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Talk:This Is How We Do It/@comment-9988564-20130828134803
So instead of reading literature like we usually do, last night for homework my teacher had us write our own story. I hate doing this shit, but I'm posting what I managed to put together below. Let me know what you guys think? The criteria for the story was: *In history, there was a guy named Stanislaus who, with one arm, managed to defeat an army full of snipers, as well as the king, and become king himself. (It is recommended that we reference this.) *Today, in the present, a kid named Chonclo is hit by a bus. *I did not know Chonclo, but I have heard of him. *It has to be written in first-person. History – my favorite subject. I looked forward to this class every day. Call me weird, but I always enjoyed learning about famous historical figures and imagining how they accomplished all that they did, only dreaming that I could ever have the power to do the same. I almost felt like their brave actions gave me hope that it would be possible for anyone to be as heroic, and it was this thought that gave me the motivation to work hard in my life. Unfortunately, no one shared this perception of history with me. The rest of my classmates view it as a terribly long and boring piece of fiction. When the bell rang, they cheered, and my friend Greg hustled over to me. “God, wasn’t history boring today? Who honestly cares about some one-armed guy that killed everyone and became king?” Trying my best to refrain from calling Greg stupid and ignorant, like I usually do, I responded by saying that, personally, I thought Stanislaus was pretty badass. “Sure, he was pretty badass, but I already read ‘The Little Engine That Could’ in elementary school. Not sure why they’re constantly trying to jam this message into our heads. I get it… People can do the impossible when they believe in themselves. But over here, in the real world, the impossible does not happen. One-armed people do not assassinate a pile of snipers and defeat a king.” I tried my best to calmly explain to Greg that history is very much real, and that Stanislaus actually was one-armed, and that he did defeat all of those enemies and become king. But Greg is very stubborn, and couldn’t care less about history whether it’s true or not, anyway. “Who cares about the past? Live in the present, and look towards the future.” is a motto that he prides himself to live by. Ironically enough, Greg’s future isn’t looking very bright. He couldn’t care less about his grades. It’s hard to even tell when he’s sober these days, if he ever is. But, hey, he’s a well-liked guy, who’s fun to be around, and he’s confident about himself and his future. I suppose that’s all he needs to keep himself going. Greg continued to explain his ridiculous theory, as if he was trying to get me to consider it to be at least somewhat valid. “Nah dude, he was probably just faking it. He probably thought he could impress people if he accomplished all that with only one arm. And now, look at him – he’s in our history books, right next to real heroes like Eisenhower and JFK. Smart guy with a devious plan, but hero? Eh-“ Before Greg could finish his sentence, we both witnessed something awful. This plump, bushy-haired kid with a hunched back - Chonclo, I believed to be his name - was crossing the street when a school bus paraded straight through him. All witnesses were in shock as the bus stopped to a halt, with Chonclo’s body lying in the street, just a couple feet behind the tires, unconscious. I had barely even heard of the kid before and I still felt sick to my stomach. It was devastating, just watching someone, peacefully walking along for one second, and the next, they’re on the ground surrounded by a pool of blood. I couldn’t erase the event from my mind. Everyone was silent, but knowing Greg, I wasn’t surprised when he was the first to say something. “These bus drivers, man. Where do they even find them? It’s like they purposely want hundreds of children’s lives to be put in the hands of the most reckless drivers…” I’d known Greg for 11 years now, and his insensitivity towards what had just happened even managed to take me by surprise. Still trying to piece together what had just happened, I scrambled together the only question that could come to mind… “Did you know him?” “Yeah, a bit. His name was Chonclo. He was in my math class. Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. Sure, it’s sad, but this kid wasn’t gonna amount to anything anyways. He couldn’t do algebra to save his life. The teacher decided to not even bother calling on him… she already knew he wouldn’t have the answer… He had no friends, no social skills, no talents…” “You think he’ll survive?” I asked. “Maybe. Whether he does or not, though, there doesn’t look to be much hope for him. I mean, look at him. Best case scenario, he’ll be riding around in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. And who wants that? If that crash was fatal, it’ll probably do him a favor.” As hard as it was to think something so cruel, Greg was probably right, but I still couldn’t shake off my optimism. I couldn’t help but think of Stanislaus. With enough perseverance, humans are capable of breaking barriers. This unfortunate event… it didn’t have to be the end of Chonclo. He could still accomplish his goals, just as Stanislaus did. However, one large difference did still remain, and it was not in Chonclo’s favor. It is possible that Stanislaus was able to perform all that he did, given his restrictions, because he had so much support. The king was corrupt – the people wanted change. Stanislaus was popular, and people believed in him. With the majority of a country on your side, cheering you on to achieve something, it’s not hard to find the motivation and strength necessary to make a dream happen. Unfortunately for Chonclo, it seemed as if this support was nonexistent. He didn’t have anyone that believed in him, that motivated him to achieve success, that told him he was capable of becoming whatever it was that he wanted to be. So I asked myself – would Chonclo be able to overcome this terrible, freak accident? Would he even want to? Then, as the event continued to play back again-and-again in my head, I couldn’t shake off the thought that maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe Chonclo got too caught up in how unimportant and weak everyone around him made him feel, and maybe he even started to believe it himself. Maybe he let this destroy his ego, until all his feelings of self-worth and self-motivation were diminished. Maybe he wanted that bus to run him over… A week later, I found myself in the auditorium while a memorial service played for Chonclo. I had never even spoken to him, but his death still hit me really hard, for reasons I don’t even understand. Even the entire school mourned his death, even though none of them had likely given him any ounce of attention prior to the accident. I wondered, if Chonclo had been given this sort of attention, sympathy, and support, prior to the accident, if this all could have been prevented, if he could have become the next Stanislaus.